Tuesday, December 18, 2012

I have begun work on a new project investigating and interacting with a selection of thirteen propositions from Euclid's Elements.
Chosen not for their relationship to each other but for their relevance
in my life, the thirteen propositions will be printed with accompanying
diagrammatics and paired with a companion textual and visual commentary
of my own. The book is in the very early stages of reading, sketching,
writing, and proofing, but it already promises to involve the most
complex printing I have attempted to date. The few spreads that I have
designed so far require ten to fourteen press runs each, involving any
number of materials and processes including hand set type, ornaments,
rules, polymer plates, woodblock, and pochoir. The book will be hand set
in my proprietary typefaces, Gremolata and Cancellaresca Milanese,
newly engraved and cast by Micah Currier at the Dale Guild Type Foundry, and Daniel Kelm will be binding the book in a new structure of his design.

While
many people develop a kind of nervous tick at the mention of geometry,
flashing back to the schoolhouse frustrations typically associated with
maths, the geometry classroom, above all others, was enormously creative
for me. I was a disastrous student in general but in mathematical
subjects I experienced a natural fluency, one that was tested when I
entered tenth grade geometry. Frustrated with my incompetent teacher and
my resulting grades, I took to reading the text book rather than paying
attention in class. My grades and comprehension quickly improved and it
soon became apparent that in geometry I had found my life's metier. I
also discovered the method by which I would pursue any future studies:
reading books and drawing. Since that first brush with geometry I have
used what I learned in that text book to draw letters, design books,
develop ornaments and patterns—all of the things that I love
most to do.

My method for working on Thirteen Propositions
is similar to my method in the tenth grade. I am beginning by reading
and drawing proofs for all the propositions in Euclid's thirteen books.
Along the way, certain propositions stand out as having a particular
interest or relevance: they spark associations in literature, letter
forms, or life (or all three). I then begin to develop visual ideas,
write bits of text, and begin reading other books that might inspire or
relate to the proposition at hand. My thought at this point is that each
proposition will involve a work of Greek literature but it is too early
to tell if that will be the case. While some of the reading is great fun, the Iliad, David Copperfield,
Edith Hamilton, Euclid, etc., some is less thrilling. Just a few days
ago I received a copy of a ninth grade algebra text book that sent
strange shivers through my body, an uncomfortable electrical current
connecting me with my awkward thirteen year old self. Thankfully, I am
able to read through a chapter a day, meaning that it will be a quick
torture. There are only fourteen chapters.

Simultaneously
with these studies, I am conducting a survey of a few hundred editions
of Euclid, beginning with Erhardt Ratdolt's edition of 1482 and ending with editions from the last few years. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the structure of the Elements,
there are thirteen books comprising roughly twenty to fifty
propositions. Each of the propositions begins with an enunciation of
what is meant to be proven, followed by the proof and conclusion which
are illustrated by a line diagram. These diagrams have remained constant
for hundreds of years and so it is interesting to see how designers and
printers have tried to distinguish their edition from others—you can
tell instantly if the printer had fun with geometry or took it a little
too seriously. Below I've attached just two examples. The first is from
Paganius Paganinus' 1509 edition edited by Fra Luca Pacioli and it is
pretty much exactly what one would expect from a Humanistic friar: tall
slender columns of uninterupted text with the squares, trapezia, etc.
tucked safely in the margins. The second is published by John Daye in
London in 1590, showing his lovely little pull-up illustrations from
Book XI. Daye's is closer to the spirit which I will try to evoke in my
edition.